


a world engendered

by miraphora



Series: Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Heroes [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Kid Fic, Oblique discussion of pregnancy, Post-Rebellion Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11788206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraphora/pseuds/miraphora
Summary: This wasn’t a decision like Scarif--this wasn’t dying. This was a commitment to living, to making a life. It was a responsibility beyond the scope of anything either of them had ever undertaken before.





	a world engendered

_5 ABY_

They had talked about it. This wasn’t a decision like Scarif--this wasn’t dying. This was a commitment to living, to making a life. It was a responsibility beyond the scope of anything either of them had ever undertaken before.

Of course they’d talked about it.

That didn’t stop Cassian from stroking his hand--broad and articulate, palms smooth, but the calluses on his fingertips roughening her skin--and dragging that hand up the muscular curves of her arm, up from the tender hollow of her elbow, to brush the edge of his thumb carefully along the small bacta patch pressed tidily over the wound on her inner arm. The tiny wound where her implant had been removed.

He looked at her from under his lashes, his hair feathering across his brow. It was getting long, and she wondered if he would grow it out, if he would abandon even his casual observance of Alliance regulation, and become someone new--a softer Cassian, maybe. She had already begun to see that man, had seen the first signs of him before Scarif, in the corners of his lips, the creases beside his eyes, which had before deepened only with tension, but which crinkled easier now, years later, with affection.

“Are you sure, Jyn?”

She wasn’t the sort of woman who would humor him for the sake of sentiment. Not with her body, not with her freedom. He knew that. 

He had been a spy for too long--he wasn’t asking the question his words conveyed. _She_ knew _that_. He wasn’t asking if she was sure about this. He was asking if she was sure about him.

He was a terribly clever man. He was the damnedest fool where it came to her. 

She grinned at him crookedly, but she held his eyes unwaveringly. “Are _you_ sure? They might come out with a stolen blaster and a bad attitude, you know.”

He huffed a soft laugh, leaning forward, easing into her space the way he always did, too close and not close enough. He rested his forehead against hers, the tip of his nose brushing alongside hers. “I love you.”

She pulled back so she could look at him, feeling a little hollow, a little full, all at once. 

His eyes had gone dark and watchful. “You know that.”

She smiled again, less cocksure than before. Maybe he wasn’t such a fool after all. “You just usually don’t say it that way.”

There was a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth, warmth in his eyes. “And how do I usually say it?”

His warmth caught and kindled her, a new world engendered in her smile. She leaned back in, gravitating to him like a small sun, like a newborn star. Pressed her lips to his, soft, softer than she’d ever thought she could be.

“Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from a fictional poem by a fictional poet from the Kushiel series, because i am a trashbin of diverse influences.


End file.
